


No Better Love

by odyssxus



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: But Make it Soft™, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: “What have I done to deserve someone like you?” Yusuf mused, drawing Nicolò’s head up with a gentle touch.“I could ask the same,” Nicolò rasped.“Well,” Yusuf said, “perhaps we both did something extraordinary to have found each other.”~~~They may have different wants and needs, but that was alright. Yusuf would always be there for Nicolò, just as Nicolò was always there for him.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 30
Kudos: 130
Collections: D/s JoeNicky Event





	No Better Love

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly just wanted to explore non-sexual intimacy with two of my fav characters, and how different people need different things but can still learn how to be together. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you so much to Popi for betaing this for me, Naemmi for giving it a sensitivity read, and to everyone on discord who listened to me hum and haw for ages. You're all amazing!

Yusuf ran a hand over  Nicolò’s hair, taking care not to pull. When his lover was like this he could not bear the thought of causing him any pain. They’d been through too much together now, and Yusuf loved him too dearly to cause him needless hurt, regardless of how quickly any injury would heal. 

Nicolò used to ask for it. ask to hurt. Ask for Yusuf to cause him pain when they fucked. He had thought he deserved it, thought he needed to pay some form of penance. Yusuf had not been able to stomach the thought of hurting him. Not in that way. Never that way. Even when they had still half hated each other, before they had become friends let alone lovers, Yusuf would never have hurt him. 

Eventually, over the centuries, they had come up with a solution. 

Nicolò, for reasons Yusuf had taken decades to understand, needed to submit at times. Needed to cede control to another. It had grown from simply following orders when he was younger, to him needing to give up control to another in dangerous ways, in ways that had caused him pain and left his body scarred. 

Their first fight after becoming friends had been because of this. 

Nicolò had acted strange for days. It had happened before, of course, but Yusuf hadn’t cared then. This time, however, he took notice. The slightly younger man had left early one morning. Yusuf, concerned about his actions and behaviour, had followed him, only to find him holding whip, his back covered in blood. Yusuf had torn the whip away, before pulling Nicolò close, hands frantically searching for wounds he knew would be already healed, demanding  _ why, why, why! _

“I… I need it, Yusuf!” he’d said, voice tight with emotion. “I need to just…” he’d trailed off, tears in his eyes. “Please!” 

Yusuf, horrified and worried, had refused, begging Nicolò not to hurt himself. Claiming that seeing him hurt, no matter the reason, hurt him as well. 

And so, they had reached an impasse of sorts, and both had pushed the event out of their minds for the time being. 

The next time Yusuf had noticed Nicolò acting strangely, acting like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and be made anew, they had been lovers. It was still new, still strange but wonderful. It had taken years for them to reach that point, but to love Nicolò was as natural as breathing. He could not imagine anything else. 

And he likewise could not imagine hurting him, or seeing him hurt. 

He had not lied when he’d told Nicolò he could not bear to see him in pain. That everytime his blood was shed he wanted to cry and rage at the world. But it also hurt him to see his lover like this, desperate for a reason Yusuf could not even begin to comprehend. 

“What do you need?” he’d asked, pulling Nicolò close, desperate to soothe him, as Nicolò had done for him too many times to count. 

Nicolò had briefly relaxed against him, before pushing away, more emotional than he’d been in years. It had killed Yusuf to see.

“I don’t know,” he’d admitted, tears in his eyes. “I truly don’t, love.” 

He had asked, later, for pain. He had wanted to hurt, wanted to ground himself, and that was the only way he knew how.

Yusuf, half hating himself, had refused. He would do nearly anything for his lover, but the thought of causing him pain made him feel physically ill.

They had not fought, not really, but their relationship had changed after that. Nicolò had been tense, wound tight and on edge, and Yusuf had been helpless, unable to do anything to soothe his lover, and unsure if there was anything he could possibly do. 

He had come to the solution in a small marketplace several weeks later, for no discernible reason at all. He’d finished his shopping quickly, haggling less than he normally would, and rushed home. Nicolò had been helping a neighbour, but that was fine. It gave Yusuf time to prepare. He took their spare blanket, as well as his own pillow, placing them beside the small kitchen table, one that Yusuf used to work on his manuscripts, as well as where they shared their meals. 

When Nicolò had come home, still tense and on edge, Yusuf had ordered him to kneel. And, after some confusion, Nicolò had. Yusuf had not known what to expect, not really. But at that point he was willing to try anything short of hurting his lover. Slowly but surely Nicolò had relaxed, his breathing slowing and the tension in his form seeping away. 

It had not been perfect, not yet, but when Yusuf had helped Nicolò to his feet and into bed nearly an hour later, the other man had seemed far more at peace. He’d also seemed almost drunk, much to Yusuf’s confusion. So Yusuf had taken him in his arms and held him close, telling him over and over how much he loved him. 

The next morning Nicolò had been embarrassed, but also incredibly grateful. And, over the years, Yusuf had learned to read the signs. To know when Nicolò needed to let go, to give up control. He still did not understand, not completely, but he enjoyed the quiet evenings when Nicolò could kneel at his side, and the warmth it brought him. No one had ever trusted or loved him so much, and it had come to calm Yusuf as well, as he enjoyed seeing Nicolò kneeling at his feet. 

Nicolò shifted slightly, bringing Yusuf out of his memories and back to the present. 

“You alright, my love?” Yusuf asked, speaking quietly. He didn’t want to disrupt the fragile peace that had fallen. 

Nicolò did not reply, just blinked up at Yusuf, pupils blown. 

Yusuf ran a hand through his hair again, then over his clean shaven cheek, then down his bare shoulder. “Nicolò? I need you to answer me.” 

The other man visibly gathered himself, before nodding. “Yes,” he said, voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, Yusuf.” 

Yusuf smiled, ducking down to kiss the top of his lover's head. “Just making sure,” he said. Nicolò had been kneeling at his feet for several hours now, and seemed completely uninterested in moving. Yusuf did not mind, not at all. They’d left Quynh and Andromache the week before, and while he and Nicolò both adored the women they had come to see as sisters, they had all needed time to rest. They had both been exhausted, fraying at the edges, for too long now. 

And while Yusuf tended to immerse himself in art when he was overwhelmed, Nicolò was too far gone to distract himself by reading or playing an instrument as he usually did. 

He suspected Andromache had noticed as well, considering the look she had given Yusuf before they had left. 

He pushed the thought from his mind, wanting to focus on Nicolò and his art, and nothing else. 

Nicolò smiled up at him every so slightly before relaxing again, cheek resting on the rough fabric of Yusuf’s trousers. 

Yusuf smiled to himself, going back to his sketch and finishing some details. 

About an hour later he finally stood, back briefly protesting before his healing took over. Nicolò made a small noise of protest, eyes half lidded. 

“Come, my love,” Yusuf chuckled, easily pulling the other man to his feet. “I want to hold you.” 

Nicolò shook his head, suddenly teary. Yusuf brushed the wetness away, abruptly concerned. Nicolò hadn’t fallen this hard in years now. He pulled the other man into his arms, hugging him close. 

“Come,” he ordered again, guiding Nicolò into their bedroom. He pushed him into the bed, before standing in front of him, using a finger under the other man’s chin to tilt his head up, meeting his eyes. 

“I have you,” he said, painfully honest as always. And he did. They always had each other, in different ways. He would help and be there for Nicolò in this, and Nicolò would be there for him in other ways. It had taken time to get here, but time was something they had an abundance of. 

Nicolò managed a small smile, though he still looked half drunk and more anxious than Yusuf liked. “I know you do.” 

He ran his hands through his lover’s hair again, not liking the troubled edge to his gaze. 

Nicolò closed his eyes, his breathing carefully controlled. 

Yusuf stooped down to kiss the top of his head, heart breaking for his lover. “Kneel,” he ordered, pushing Nicolò gently until he was on his knees beside the bed, gazing up at Yusuf with teary eyes. 

“I have you,” Yusuf said again, this time in Arabic. “And I always will, my darling.” 

He let go of Nicolò, stepping away to root through his belongings. Nicolò just watched him, breathing still carefully controlled. He unfolded a thin cotton scarf, one he’d bought on a whim nearly a decade past, and returned to his lover’s side. 

“Close your eyes for me,” he ordered, folding the worn blue fabric carefully and placing it over Nicolò’s bright eyes. He wrapped it around the other man’s head, looping it once more across his eyes to ensure Nicolò could not see. That he was in darkness, with only Yusuf to ground him. 

“Tell me if you are uncomfortable,” Yusuf ordered, leaving no room for argument in his tone. 

“I swear, Yusuf,” Nicolò said immediately, knowing better than to protest. He’d tried, once, long ago now. But only once. 

Yusuf smiled, though he knew Nicolò could not see, and settled on the bed near the headboard, close enough to feel the other man’s warmth. 

He ran his fingers randomly over Nicolò’s arms, his chest, his face, and his neck, watching as the other man shivered. He thought, briefly, to try and have Nicolò lie on the bed, or at least kneel on a pillow, but could tell from the tightness to his mouth, the tense line of his shoulders, that he was not ready to move, especially not for his own comfort. 

“I’m going to read,” he said, moving his hand away from where it was running along Nicolò’s collarbone to grab his lover’s book from the side table. “You, my love, will listen and sit there until I tell you to move.” 

Nicolò let out a shuddering breath, and bowed his head forwards, resting his forehead on Yusuf’s thigh. 

Yusuf smiled at the sight, at the trust and love Nicolò was showing to him, and opened the book to read, fingering the worn pages. 

_ “But one thing more. A last request--grant it, please. / Never bury my bones apart from yours, Achilles, / let them lie together…”  _

He read until the sun set, leaving the room far too dark to continue. Nicolò had not moved, but Yusuf could tell from the set of his shoulders that something in him had let go - that he was able to breathe freely once again. 

“What have I done to deserve someone like you?” Yusuf mused, drawing Nicolò’s head up with a firm yet gentle touch. 

“I could ask the same,” Nicolò rasped, tear tracks on his cheeks. Yusuf thumbed them away easily. 

“Well,” Yusuf said, “perhaps we both did something extraordinary to have found each other.” 

Nicolò’s lips quirked in a small smile, a barely there expression. Yusuf kissed him on the forehead, heart full to bursting. 

“Come lie with me?” he asked, wanting nothing more than to have the man he loved beside him. He loved doing this for Nicolò, loved the trust shown to him, how this helped the other man to breathe again, but he wanted to feel Nicolò’s warmth at his side now, not at his feet. 

Nicolò let out a slow breath before crawling into the bed. He settled onto his side facing Yusuf, blindfold still on. Yusuf hadn’t yet allowed him to remove it, after all. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked, wanting, as always, to know his lover’s soul as deeply as he could. 

Nicolò remained silent for a long moment, and Yusuf was almost afraid he had pushed him before he was ready. That had happened more than once early in their relationship. Yusuf was naturally open and eager to share his emotions, be they good or bad, while Nicolò tended to hoard secrets close to his chest. They had fought many times before coming to understand each other more. 

If Nicolò did not want to share, did not feel like he could share, Yusuf would not push him. Not about this. But the offer was there for the taking. 

Nicolò sighed after several moments, seeming to deflate. 

“There was nothing in particular,” he explained, voice neary too soft to hear. “But… perhaps everything all at once. I do not know how to explain it - you are so much better with words than I.” 

“I’m going to take this off now,” Yusuf declared, moving to remove the scarf before Nicolò could protest. He wanted to see his love’s eyes. 

He unwound it carefully, not wanting to snag Nicolò’s hair. Nicolò would not mind, not at all, but Yusuf had no interest in causing him pain. 

Perhaps one day, once they were both more comfortable and confident with this strange aspect to their relationship, but not yet. Not now. Not when they were both adjusting, both learning each other. 

Nicolò opened his eyes slowly, blinking slowly. 

Yusuf ran a hand down Nicolò’s cheek. “Back with me?” he asked. Nicolò smiled slightly, though he did not speak. But that was alright. They had no need for words anymore. Yusuf had worried early on every time Nicolò went silent (well, more silent than he normally was), but now he knew it was simply one of his lovers' quirks. 

They lay facing each other, content to simply be close to one another. Nicolò drifted off first, his breathing deep and slow, and Yusuf spent several more hours observing him, watching him sleep with his heart full of love. He eventually fell asleep as well, and woke up midmorning the next day to sounds of Nicky puttering around in the kitchen. 

“Do I smell cinnamon?” he asked, perking up when delicious smells hit his nose. 

Nicolò huffed a small laugh from where he was kneading some dough, eyes warm. 

Yusuf stayed in bed for several more minutes, watching his lover move around their small home, pleased to see he seemed relaxed and comfortable in his own skin once more. Nicolò was wearing an older tunic, one that was threadbare and too large, exposing his collarbones and the soft skin on his upper chest. 

Yusuf finally stood when the need to relieve himself became too much, wandering outside to go about his business. When he returned Nicolò had finished with his baking and was wiping off his hands. 

Yusuf pulled him into a hug, wrapping one arm around Nicolò’s slender waist and the other around his broad shoulders. The other man returned the embrace immediately, humming slightly when Yusuf squeezed. 

“I love you,” he said in Arabic. 

Nicolò kissed him on the cheek, a soft look in his green eyes. “And I you,” he responded immediately. “Help me with breakfast?” 

Yusuf made a noise of protest. “Let me hold you for a little longer,” he whispered. 

Nicolò pressed another kiss to his cheek, smiling softly against Yusuf’s beard. “Always,” he said, holding Yusuf just as tight in return. 

They swayed slightly in the warm kitchen, smelling cinnamon from the baking bread and flowers from the climbing vines creeping through the window. Eventually Nicolò moved away, needing to check on the bread. Yusuf sat himself at their small table, reaching for the sketchbook he’d left open the day before. He’d left it open to a half finished drawing of Quynh, and he wanted to work on it some more. 

He looked up at his lover, watching as he moved around, noting the relaxed long of his shoulders, the small smile on his face, and the content look in his eyes. He may not understand what drove Nicolò to need to hurt or to submit, but that was alright. He would gladly help him, and be there for him no matter what. 

Just as Nicolò was always there for him. 

They loved one another wholly and completely, and always would. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought! I wanted to throw some positivity and softness out into this fandom after... the last couple of days haha. And I writing these two makes me happy! I hope this could be fun (aka tooth rotting fluff) for you to read as well! 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, I really appreciate each and every comment :)


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